Yes, But What About the Tea?
by endearing-introvert
Summary: Some mornings were perfect, others were beyond belief. Everyone is a bit OOC, but the situation tickled me too much to pass up.


The day started like any other. Sherlock was down in the kitchen peering through his microscope while John snored lazily upstairs. A day like any other, but Sherlock felt it could well be his last. There was no prominent evidence that illuminated this speculation, merely a gut feeling. Sherlock usually shrugged off such obscure ideas, but this one was different. He genuinely knew his life was in danger.

John stretched his stiff limbs, staring dreamily out his window into the London morning. He felt good, no nightmares infiltrated his long rest, and it was beautiful outside. He gave himself an affirming smile before tossing the duvet off his bare legs. John could hear Sherlock shuffling about in the kitchen, no doubt studying the evidence they had gathered from the crime scene last night. It was a glorious morning, John had decided as he bounded down the stairs. The only thing that could make this morning perfect was a nice, hot cup of tea.

Sherlock could tell his flat mate was smiling before he finished his descent and could not help smirking a bit to himself, despite feeling off kilter. John's seemingly unlimited amount of happiness amused Sherlock, especially in the morning. Predictably John waltzed into the kitchen, grunting 'good morning' and heading straight for the kettle. The familiar sound of the metal heating was a comfort to Sherlock and he allowed himself to relax. John drew open the cupboard doors to select this morning's blend, and that is when Sherlock found out that he should never doubt his gut.

Suddenly the sun seemed to have gone out. John's world was melting before his eyes. He scrambled through the cupboard, feeling this had to be a nightmare. A screech was let loose into the kitchen from the kettle accompanied by the shrill cry of panic from John's lips. Sherlock stumbled back from his microscope, startled by the sudden turn of events.

"John," He shouted above the noise, "John, what is it? What's wrong?" But John continued to shriek, his eyes wide and arms by his side. "John!" Sherlock roared out of fear, running to his friend and grabbing him by the shoulders defensively. "John! What is wrong?" He demanded an answer, but John only stood in shock. Sherlock ran his hands over his flat mate, searching for any sort of bodily harm or threat. He twirled John around, not being able to find anything physically wrong. "John!" He tried, "Please tell me what's wrong!" John silently pointed to the cupboard. Sherlock pushed him aside, hoping to defend his friend from the immediate threat and took a stance of attack at whatever danger awaited. His eyes were alight in attack mode and he swiped his hand quickly through the compartment, until he realized it was empty. Sherlock's tense shoulders visibly relaxed and he turned to John with obvious confusion written all over his face. "What is it?" Sherlock demanded, more annoyed than worried. John heaved shallow breaths before he steadied himself enough to form a coherent sentence. "Where is the tea, Sherlock?" his voice hardly audible over the kettle. "Where is it?"

Sherlock was beside himself. Surely this must be a joke? All this commotion over the fact that there was no tea?  
"I asked you," John sputtered with obvious effort, "to buy more tea yesterday." Sherlock suddenly recalled the conversation with clarity. John had been leaving for a date and wasn't due back until very late and Sherlock was curled up with the case file.  
_  
_

_Sherlock, would you fetch some tea? We're out and I'm already running late.  
Mmmm.  
Sherlock, please?  
Mmmm.  
Thanks._

Sherlock shrugged. "Just go and get some more, then." It seemed a reasonable enough conclusion. John huffed, his fingers curling into fists by his side. Hostility laced his words ever so subtly, but it sounded like a shout in Sherlock's ears. "You… I cannot believe you would neglect something so important to me. I hardly ask anything from you. And you…" John was beside himself for a moment and had to take a breath to collect his emotions before continuing, "And you neglected me, and the _tea_." John tilted his head away from Sherlock, who stood dumbfounded before him. "I hardly see why this problem needs so many dramatics, John. The solution is simple. Go and buy some more. I don't even see why you would trust me to obey such a ridiculous request as to go and buy you some _tea_." Sherlock furrowed his brow in honest confusion. He simply could not fathom why this situation would rouse his friend so. John let out a shout. "Go and buy some—" He sputtered and then turned quickly to the door and marched downstairs. Sherlock lingered on the moment a little longer before returning to his microscope. He only had a second to begin studying the slide before he heard the slight clacking of heels on the stairs followed by angry footsteps heading to his doorway again. He raised his eyebrows to the new sight of a disgruntled John and a disappointed Ms. Hudson.

"Morning." he muttered, eyes still focused on the task at hand.  
"Sherlock." Ms. Hudson clucked. "Did you really forget the tea?" Sherlock threw his arms out in exasperation. "What has this world come to that such a ruckus has to be made over morning tea? The panacea to this is so simple. Why, John could even borrow some tea from you Ms. Hudson! It wouldn't be a problem as you are constantly making it for us anyway…" Sherlock lifted his eyebrows in a plea for this situation to be over. John held Sherlock's gaze deeply for a moment before turning his head away and covering his eyes, his shoulders shaking slightly. Ms. Hudson sighed out of sympathy and pulled John against her small frame. "There, there." She cooed. "It will be alright. We will get you your tea." Completely out of the realm of understanding anything of this morning Sherlock heaved the still screeching kettle into the wall before striding up to John and huffing in his face, then spinning on his heels out the door, jacket in hand.

o.o.o

John gazed again out the window lost in a thought, when suddenly something hot was pressed against his cheek. He turned to see Sherlock still wrapped in his scarf and draped in his black coat, cheeks red from exertion, and a steaming cup of tea in his hand that was now being pressed softly into John's face. He smiled and wrapped his fingers around the cup.  
"Thank you, Sherlock." He said and sipped quietly, returning his gaze to outside.

Sherlock concluded that he lived in a world of imbeciles.


End file.
